Postscript Messages
by nattylovesjordy
Summary: Sarah leaves Chuck physically, but has a hard time emotionally putting him in the past. How does she deal with things? She writes letters...
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: So, I know a few of you were frustrated with my disappearance, but who knew this school year would be so darn busy! I didn't, and I should've. Oh well. So, being the nice person I am, I've ben working on this story for months. Clearly, I've taken long, extensive breaks from it, and it's not totally perfect, but it's share-able. And you! You're pretty snazzy for reading it! And so I'd love to hear what you have to say..._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show (Chuck) despite my deepest wishes, and just so we're clear, the idea came to me from a song. It's called P.S. I'm Still Not Over You by Rihanna, which was the working title. At some point in time in the story, I actually use lyrics (or paraphrase the lyrics) from the song. And therefore, I sadly don't own those either. Just so we're clear!_

**Postscript Messages**

_Prologue_

There are so many things I've wanted to tell him for far too long, the first and last things on the list being goodbye; the same word with two different connotations.

When I left him, I went without saying goodbye. I up and left him, leaving him stuck, not knowing what hit him. I regret it, I do. I may never know if my choice was of the right, not saying goodbye _and_ leaving, but regardless of right and wrong, I have to tell myself that it had to be done, no matter how hard.

And then there's the second, arguably harder, goodbye. A goodbye that I truly hope I never have to vocalize to him.

The goodbye of leaving him in the past, getting over him for good.

The physical goodbye and the emotional goodbye. First and last on my list.

The list that will doubly ever be acted on with a multitude of reasons backing up why I mustn't.

In my line of work, we don't get attached. Actually, it is the polar opposite that we practice--detachment. All emotions, personal feelings and desires are to be pushed away, locked up and stored away, hidden from not only others, but ourselves. As an agent, you simply can't have such distractions. We are told to lock such things up and lose the key.

But that's the problem. My key was somehow intercepted in a very unknown way by a brown haired angel.

He found the key that belongs to me. He found the key that opens up that stored away vault of emotions and desires. He found the key to me.

But not only that--he found the key to my heart, and as if it was his own home, he welcomed himself in.

And I couldn't have that. Not only professionally, but personally. I had grown so accustomed to our style of living, keeping to ourselves, that I was lost as to how to act.

And being flustered and out of control scared me.

So I left. Up and left like it was nothing, being comforted by the sound of the roar from the jet's engines as my plane took of.


	2. Chapter 1: Always Something to Remind Me

_Author's Note: IMPORTANT! I forgot to mention last time around the time that this takes place. Basically, it takes place after Season One, as I started writing this at the VERY beginning of Season Two, but like... another year or so has passed (for this chapter. Time changes in the next). So, in other words, you can basically disregard Season Two, if I remember correctly. And, for that, I give out a special thanks to **zipfe** for reminding me to point that out! Also to **Kayla** (aka kayla101blue) who reassured me like heck, even though it's still a little rough._

_Disclaimer: I still own nothing of Chuck... which is still just as depressing as it was when I wrote my very first Chuck-fic...

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**Postscript Messages**  
_Chapter 1: Always Something to Remind Me_

On the plane, I tried everything, all strategies given to us in training, sleeping, and staring listlessly, to push all thoughts out of my mind. No longer was I Sarah Walker, cover girlfriend to Chuck Bartowski, but Sarah Walker, hard, cold CIA agent.

The trip to D.C. wasn't a short one, and the length certainly wasn't helping. Normally on trips like this I would be consumed in my report, looking over details of the mission I just accomplished and beaming in my success. Sometimes the report would take up the whole plane ride, something salutary, and I wouldn't have to dwell at all.

But this ride was different. This mission wasn't just a mission at all; it was a life-changing experience.

Chuck Bartowski changed my life, and that is why, or so I told myself, I acted out of impulse.

I wrote a letter.

I didn't know if Chuck's eyes would ever see it, or if I'd even get anywhere in it, but a little before landing, I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Ironically, it was BuyMore pen, which broke my heart a little more with every word it wrote.

Starting it was the hardest part. What do you say to someone you left without a goodbye, someone you deeply care for?

_Chuck,_

_You're probably not reading this, so this is really stupid._

I crossed the first line out. While true, it wasn't a good line, and wasn't helpful at all. With new hope, I started again.

_If you're reading this, consider yourself lucky, because I just might have to kill you after._

Once more, I crossed the line out. My attempts at humor were falling flat, and for Chuck, killing is no wave of the hand; it's a serious matter.

_I'm not sure if you'll ever see this letter, but in the rare case that you do, you're probably wondering a few things. I don't doubt that one of those is why I left. I left for reasons that I just cannot tell you. I'd love to tell you that I left because they forced me too, having gone with a fight. I wish I could tell you I left kicking and screaming, but all of that would be a lie. I hope that someday you can understand._

I was stuck. To my knowledge, there's no "How-to-Write-a-Letter-to-the-Man-You-Left-Without-a-Goodbye-for-Dummies" book that could help me out here; I was all on my own and didn't like it.

But I didn't have to keep writing. The pilot announced that the plane was about to land and that I should fasten my seat belt.

Quickly, I signed my name, nothing else, and closed the pad of paper.

Putting the pad of paper away and re-settling in my big chair, I refastened my belt and descended back to the world, letting the letter be my only tie to my past life.

I knew that in the world I have chosen to live in that that letter simply couldn't be finished, and most certainly not sent.

But all the while, my emotions said otherwise. I knew that, like many other things, I had to leave my emotions behind, once more lock them up. It was inexcusable to let them back out to begin with, whether voluntary or not.

I looked at the bag that held the letter I scribbled and told myself that this must stop as quickly as it started.

_Sarah_

* * *

After Director Graham was murdered, it was the NSA who took over, which sent me straight to Beckman for my next assignment.

She was apparently in one of her "better moods," because she required for me to take a week off. I tried to say "thanks but no thanks," and to refuse, but she wasn't having any of it and made it an order.

And even still, I'm not one to completely defy orders.

That night I found myself in my dark and dusty apartment that I haven't stepped foot in for almost two years, before I was assigned to Chuck.

Just that simple thought sent me spiraling. I wondered how he was doing, if Casey was taking care of him, if I had already been replaced.

Beckman wasn't thrilled when I privately told her of my resignation, but that was a moment where I put my foot down and _didn't_ take no for an answer.

I don't know who told him, and honestly, I'm not sure who I would rather have tell him; The General who doesn't respect or understand Chuck Bartowski, or Casey who, while he has an understanding of Chuck, tends to be to insensitive in such situations.

The uneasiness of those thoughts alone kept me up all night, physically tossing and turning.

I tried watching TV, but all the shows ended up reminding me in some way of Chuck. Even stupid things like a man with brown hair, or the guy working a job he doesn't want. When they started to all become infomercials, I stopped watching.

I flipped through radio stations, but all I was hearing were songs about love or pain, and those certainly weren't helping either.

At 5:47am I was a mess. Sleep wasn't coming, even though I knew I was tired, and my mind was racing light-years a minute.

I generally wouldn't resolve to sleeping pills but being an agent I knew that it is sometimes a necessity.

It took three pills to knock me out into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I woke up at 2:23 in the afternoon. As I grudgingly dragged myself out of bed, I made the decision that despite how dead I may feel, food is something my body still requires.

I had only a few non-perishable items in my pantry, and a few universal cooking ingredients--eggs, milk, butter--that a fellow agent had clearly gotten for me under orders from Beckman.

With my limited resources I decided to make the one food item bound to be good during any time of the day or night: pancakes.

But instead of enjoying them like any other night, I picked at them. No amount of food would get me out of my stupor, even something as exciting as pancakes.

I tried laying down on my couch, my body erect with my hands folded on my stomach. I stared at the ceiling, trying to make shapes in the texture. Finding only the faces of my past, I turned my head and looked at the coffee table where I threw my bag when I arrived.

Once again, I acted without much honest thinking. It was obvious, even in that moment, that I needed some sort of mission or assignment for the distraction and to get me out of this God-forsaken apartment.

I grabbed the notepad from my bag and propped it up on my knees, starting the note the same way as the first.

_Chuck,_

_It's me again._

I stopped, once more clueless as to what to say. I can think of many things I need to say, and things he deserves for me to hear say, even now, but I choose to ignore them.

_Beckman is forcing me to take a week leave. I'm going crazy, sitting in this apartment. It's dark and cold, the polar opposite of LA._

Before I knew what I was saying, I threw the last bit in. My mind told me to efface it until was wholly unable to read, but I couldn't get myself to actually do it. And the trend continued...

_I was listening to music last night and every song reminded me of everything I left behind in LA, or what baggage I brought with back with me. I tried watching TV, but it seemed like there was always something that could be tied back to you, whether in the way the characters looked or a silly joke they cracked._

I threw the pad of paper on the floor. I knew that I had to get over him, to stop writing these letters, no matter how hard. A swell of emotions within me, I headed back into my room, leaving the discarded notebook thrown on the floor. I grabbed the bottle off my nightstand and popped three sleeping pills in my mouth. I could tell right then that this was going to turn into a pattern.

I didn't sign my name on the letter, letting the large pen streak from when I threw it be the the ending line.


	3. Chapter 2: How's Your Mother Brother?

_Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck, anything related to the Beatles, Sarah Palin, the titles of these chapters (as they are lyrics from the song, abiet some edited) and... other random things that are in here that you recognize. I do, however, take responsibility for writing it and coming up with the idea. So there!

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**Postscript Messages**  
_Chapter 2: How's Your Mother, How's Your Little Brother?_

I didn't write another letter for three months until one of the last days of another short break in between missions. I had gone out the day I wrote the letter needing to pick up a few things from the store--I was practically starving myself again and knew that was something that needed to come to an end.

That was when the world came crashing down, some higher power spiting me.

I was going down the cereal line, looking for my secretly favorite cereal, Cocoa Puffs, and standing by the Apple Jacks was a tall man with short brown curly hair and black converse. My mind immediately screamed CHUCK! along with my voice.

My legs took me over to the man, my arms staying, thankfully, stationary at my sides.

He turned around and my heart dropped to my stomach and my stomach jumped to my throat.

"Oh," I said, completely dejected and heart broken. "I'm sorry, you just..." There was no way I was going to let myself lose it then and there in the middle of a grocery story with some random guy, surrounded by cereals. So I walked away, never actually getting my cereal.

I decided by the time I got back to my apartment to write another letter before I left, in desperate need of... something.

Seeing that man who looked so much like Chuck sparked many more questions in me. I knew that I'd feel better if I wrote them on paper, even if I never got an answer.

_Chuck,_

_I haven't spoken to you for a while and decided to change that, even though I don't get to actually hear your voice. All those people in the movies and books are right; memories serve someone--specifically everything about you--no justice. They don't hold a candle to the real thing._

_I was at the store today, getting some food before I jet off again. I saw this guy, he looked exactly like you from the behind, and it got me wondering._

This time, I _had_ to stop what was coming next, so I scribbled down the next best thing.

_How's your sister, Ellie? I hope she's not too upset with me, although I don't blame her for being mad at my abrupt departure. And Awesome? Still being awesome, I hope. Have they set the date yet, or has it already happened? And Morgan! Are he and Anna still dating? I hope Casey is doing his job well, or that you've at least knocked some sense into him._

There's so many questions I want answers to, but I forfeited them when I left. And then there's answers I've wanted and needed to know since before I left.

I want to know about his day, if he accidentally walked in on Morgan and Anna in the break room, or all about the new trouble Jeff and Lester got him in. I want to hear about what he ate for breakfast, the stupid people who came in for his help, everything and anything.

I wanted to know if he was as crazy for me as I was him...

Suddenly my phone rang. It was a text from Beckman; I was leaving early. Quickly, but neatly, I signed the letter, stuffed the notepad in my bag and headed out.

_Yours,_

_Sarah_

* * *

The next letter I wrote was during my time in Russia. It was a longer-term assignment and a boring one at that. Russia being Russia, there were leaks of information about a new, even more lethal, nuclear weapon. Seeing as the CIA seems to always be pulled into the Russian affairs, I, and a small assembly of fellow agents, were sent out to investigate and gather information about the weapons if they even existed. Basically do do exactly what the Russians had done when we were building our Atomic and Hydrogen bombs.

Weather had interfered, though, and we were consequently snowed in one day, the snow rising to the middle of the downstairs windows. We had a heater running, but it still hadn't canceled out the cold. More than ever I longed to be somewhere sunny.

Somewhere like LA.

Agent Jackson had joked--he was one of the funnier ones of the solemn group of agents--about ditching the mission the second they could escape and taking the first flight out to somewhere sunny like Florida or Hawaii.

My mind, of course, wanted to fly to my heart where I left it in LA.

I was stuck in the house with a group of younger, newer agents, so they were restless, but also finding a way to enjoy themselves by playing card games and other random activities. I was assigned as the leader of the mission and they all looked up to me and respected me for it.

Before Chuck, this wouldn't have bugged me--I would've demanded it--but we needed some defiance.

Wrapping myself in a blanket, I left the others downstairs and went to my sleeping quarters.

My last letter was a month past, so I decided to write another, to tell him about the cold of all things.

_Dear Chuck,_

_You have it so lucky in LA. It's warm and sunny and beautiful and, best of all, there is no snow. Snow can be really annoying. And if there's enough of it, you can get snowed into your home like I am now._

_I can't actually tell you where I am, but I don't think that writing down some hints would hurt anyone. After all, the agents that are here with me are all respectful and everyone needs a little rebellion from time to time._

_Clue One: It has two cities named after two consecutive radical leaders of the past. _

_Clue Two: There's a Beatles song with the former name of this country in it._

_Clue Three: It's cold here, as normal; probably just as cold as Sarah Palin's house in Alaska._

_I wish that I could be wrapped up by 100 blankets, or surrounded in a small space with a large group of people._

... Or just one man by the name of Charles Bartowski...

_But really, I shouldn't complain. It's un-agent-like._

As is writing these letters.

_Wishing I was somewhere warm that I would never have to leave,_

_Sarah_

And if that warm place could be his arms, I'd have no reason to.


	4. Chapter 3: I've Tried and Tried

**Postscript Messages**  
_Chapter 3: I've Tried and Tried_

A rational part of me knows it needs to stop. The same rationale tells me that I'm in too deep, that I left "to be professional" and therefore should be professional, even if it takes a kick in the ass.

That very same part tells me that it is time for goodbye.

But I'm unsure if I can bring myself to give myself the kick in the ass with the steal-toed boot to do it.

Saying goodbye entails for me to put him behind, to allow him to fade into the background, but how can one throw something so life impacting out like trash.

Knowing my personal mission, I took out the notebook where I've written the other letters in. My heart felt as if tiny daggers were stabbing it as I opened the notepad to a fresh sheet. I clicked open the pen, the same BuyMore pen from the beginning, and started by writing his name and nothing else.

_Chuck,_

I found myself once again at a loss of words. Times before I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying stupid things, but this time I was biting at anything.

I continued to battle myself. It was as if on each shoulder was a different side, like the angel and the devil. My right shoulder was telling me to do it, to tell him goodbye, even if just for myself, but my left shoulder was fighting back, unable to let go of something.

Ultimately, that is what made my decision for me, the fact that agents do not get attached and that I am.

What I wrote ended up being a goodbye, but not the one I planned on writing at all.

_I wish that I could press rewind and turn back time and change everything that transpired between us. Writing these letters I've had to much to say. The thought of writing them seemed easy, but at times it was anything but. I thought that if I wrote them, the words would come out better, but clearly they don't. They're bumpy and incomplete, even lackluster at times._

_I want to start off by saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving without telling you myself. I'm sorry for breaking your trust. You trusted me and I up and left. I'm sorry for not always being truthful all of the time. I'm sorry for all of the times I was cold to you, even when it was necessary._

_I owe you much more than apologies, though. I owe you a proper goodbye. While I can't give you a proper goodbye, I can, nonetheless, give you a goodbye._

_I'm not saying goodbye to you, Chuck. I'm sticking my hand out in attempt to help you, give you some much needed closure. The physical me saying a physical goodbye to a physical you._

_So, goodbye Chuck. You will forever remain in my heart._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Sarah_

I set out to say a complete goodbye to Chuck, to throw him like sand into the wind of the past. I intended to end it, but in the way of the cycle, I found myself unable to. All I could do was give him a fraction of the justice he deserves.

In general, Chuck deserves so much more than I can ever give him in a lifetime. I'll never be that woman in the mini-van bright and early on Saturday mornings for sports games. I can never be the wife who stays home and has dinner sitting on the table when he arrives home from work.

That woman, the "perfect wife," can never be me, and Chuck deserves perfect and beyond.

* * *

In the field, on an important mission, I found a way to make a huge mistake. I had managed to get my partner shot and killed. Better yet, it was because my mind was so wrapped up on Chuck.

I had been given a partner a few days after my last letter. He was the total opposite of Chuck and didn't stand anywhere near to Casey in comparison. He was more suave and cunning, his voice deep and naturally husky. He was average looking, his face the face of a man from the fifties. He tried to crack jokes, but they always fell flat. He was a fairly good partner, able to shoot a gun and engage in hand-to-hand combat, and was just as good with the tech stuff as myself. In a way, he was a lot like Roan, without the obsessive alcohol consumption.

He was older than me by almost 20 years and sometimes looked at me as his daughter because he never got to have one of his own.

But then I went and let him down.

He made an off-handed comment about something he'd heard through the intelligence community. Apparently "some geeky analyst named Carmichael" stood up to the General and "gave her a piece of his mind" about his "sexy partner" suddenly vanishing. In response, the General had to have her "macho major" sedate him because he was "out of control and wouldn't give it up."

When I asked him more about it he was confused; I usually never engaged in his 14-year-old gossip, but this time was different. Much different.

All that he knew was that the guy had been caught trying to get into the agent's records to see where she was and was actually threatened to be put in an underground secured facility because of it. That part broke my heart for Chuck. "But this all happened months ago," he had said. "It's just spreading now."

His comments were stuck in my mind, playing over and over again on repeat.

That night we were to go to a party being thrown by a drug-lord suspected to be affiliated with Fulcrum to look around and see what we could find. Our cover was boyfriend-girlfriend, even though he was quite a bit older than me.

Normally, this would be a job for Chuck; he would flash and I'd do my agent stuff, but his control started and ended in LA, and this was New York.

We were snooping in the office, my partner on the computer, myself riling through paper work and files when two armed men walked in.

My partner had started to say something, a pre-made-up line used to distract them by calling it an accident, when the men pulled out their guns and I knocked one out with the butt of my own.

I knocked down the other when I told him we needed to leave, but he had found Fulcrum documents. He made an interested noise, his curiosity clearly piqued. "I've heard a few things about the Intersect," he mused. My head shot up, distracting me from the men.

Intersect. Fulcrum... Chuck. Three words that meant danger when in the same thought.

During my moment of distraction, one of the men on the floor overhead our discovery. In response he shot the laptop so we couldn't get the file, but the bullet went right through the screen and out the other side. A lucky shot, indeed.

It hit my partner square in the chest.

Before anything else could happen, I shot both men, my thoughts cold and dead. I became the scary agent that scared Chuck away many previous times. I ran to him where he laid on the floor, cold and motionless, the blood slowly draining from his body. I checked for a pulse, but he was gone.

I could have stopped that man. But I didn't.

After recovering form the shock, I knew what I had to do, no mater how hard. I now had no choice other than to say the real goodbye to Chuck, as hard as it may be. I couldn't let another incident like that happen again.

Chuck had to be put into the past, kicked out of the corners of my heart of which he had grown so comfortable in. I had to change the locks to my heart and only hope he'd never find them again. Chuck had to be a distant memory, if that, and stay that way.

_Dear_ _Chuck,_

_This should finally be the letter of goodbye. I've tried and tried, Chuck, to get you out of my mind, but it's proven an impossible test as every day it grows harder and harder._

_It confuses me. You confuse me. I confuse me. I've never had this hard of a time letting go of anything. I've yet to understand why I write these, even though I've come up with answers. There's simply something inside of me that makes me._

_I've already lost everything since I lost you, Chuck, so why not take that next step._

I paused, fearing the words that I had led up to saying too soon. Once again, as seemingly every time, the letter took on a life of it's own. I held my breath.

_I love you, Charles Irving Bartowski._

Why I wrote that, or even admitted that to myself let alone this letter presumably to him, I have no idea. But the real mystery is why I didn't cross it out...

_Just thinking about you... I can't help but smile. My heart still breaks because I'm not with you. It breaks because I hurt you, but I can't help but smile at the good memories of you, even nearly a year later._

_But this is equally as unfortunate._

_I've kept all of my pictures of us. The real ones. I'm sure you've noticed the one missing from your room, the one of us during that day Morgan planned at the beach last spring._

The picture I was referring to was tapped onto the notepad of letters. That particular picture was taken by Ellie; only she could manage to get a camera in the middle of a football game.

Chuck and I were laying on the grass, both going after the ball. I had landed on him and was distracted by being so close.

_After the ten months I've been gone, I shouldn't still have them, but I do. I don't think that I have the strength to part with them yet, if ever._

_I've tried to erase your smell, how you feel--_

Taste, the tingling feeling after kissing--

_but there's some things I can't forget. Sometimes I think I can still feeling the spark from your skin on mine._

Things were out of control, more than any other time. My mind was running, the words being translated onto the sheet of paper with clearly very little of a filter to stop things from being said.

_You changed my life, Chuck._

I took another deep breath, willing to keep in the tears. I knew it was time to get to the point, say goodbye, and tell him I'm leaving him in the past.

_I guess that by spending so much time with you you rubbed one of your nervous tendencies on me. Nervous chatter._

_I didn't want to keep reliving all of the memories, but there's just so many feelings that haven't left._

_I guess you thought it would be all behind me, you seeing me as the stone-cold agent, and I honestly don't think it ever will be, but it has to be._

_I can't go on being so consumed by you. Emotionally, I can't take it anymore. I may smile, but my heart breaks at the same time. It's distracting in my line of business. It just got my partner killed._

_So this is that emotional and metaphorical goodbye. I have to start... I have to "start a new chapter of my life." I have to put this pain behind me._

_So goodbye, Chuck._

_Love,_

_Sarah_

I hesitated before I wrote what I wrote next. It would contradict the whole point of this letter, but the point is to be honest, not hiding things through these letters. It shouldn't even be a big deal if he's not going to read them, I reminded myself. Right?

_PS, I'm still not over you.

* * *

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**_Author's Note: _**_I know, I know, it seems like it's already over, and maybe even too quick. The song just seemed to split up into a few parts, really, so I wrote around that. But don't worry, you've got at least three more installments coming you way. Reviews are still very much appreciated. _


	5. Chapter 4: Hope to Hear From You Soon

**_Author's Note: _**_I _was_ going to re-write my ending and make it horribly depressing, but, because a few reviewers hoped for a happy ending, I decided against it. This, however, is NOT the last chapter. There's another chapter and hopefully an epilogue (of which I'm actually still tweaking) soon to come! Thanks to all the loyal reviewers out there, and readers who don't review, even though I'd love it if they would!_

_**Disclaimer:** As if we all don't already know, we don't own Chuck or anything, which, unfortunately, means I can't claim the TV show as mine. But, if it was, March 2010 would NOT be when it returned, I'll tell ya that. I also don't own "PS (I'm Still Not Over You)" by Rihanna.

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**Postscript Messages**  
_Chapter 4: Hope To Hear From You Soon_

I was done. I was beginning to lose it like all strong agents do when they let something personal get to them.

It's not that I was still distracted, it's more that it was getting harder for me to shoot a gun to kill. I was beginning to hesitate pulling the trigger. No doubt, Chuck had finally gotten to me in that aspect as well.

Beckman was growing more and more frustrated and aware of my inability to do my job.

Coincidentally enough, it was her who sent me back to LA.

While it seemed that my feelings for Chuck were fairly well hidden, apparently they really weren't.

"Agent Walker, I am going to be completely honest with you," she started. And she was. She told me plain out that she knew that it was Chuck that was distracting me all this time. She even used his name directly.

Not only that, but she somehow knew of the letters. "So help me God. If you don't give him those letters, Walker..."

And just like that I was on the red eye to LA. Casey knew of my trip, but he was the only one. Apparently they'd gone through a number of replacements during my time gone and I was coming during an in-between period.

Now I find myself on the plane like last time, where it started, with the same problem sleeping. In a matter of hours I am going to be in LA.

How do I go up to him? Will he even want to see me?

Multiple outcomes ran though my head, most being negative. The one that I actually liked was when I went up to him at the Nerd Herd desk, just like the day I arrived in his life.

I spent the rest of the plane ride playing over and over in my head how the arrival could go, unable to think of anything else. I worried over his reaction, studied all contortions of his face that my mind could create, gauging these made up reactions.

* * *

I arrived early in the afternoon to the airport, the bright sun high in the LA sky. It was a nice greeting, so much better than my time in Russia.

Not that much wasn't better than that.

My only luggage was a small bag that didn't contain much other than the ill-fated letters.

I exited the busy airport in search of a cab when Casey grabbed me by the arm.

"I swear, Walker," he grimaced. "If you come back and hurt him again, I'll shoot you personally."

I looked at him. I was surprised by his sudden care for Chuck, but didn't let it show. "I'd expect nothing less, Casey."

Casey growled. "Get in."

Grudgingly, I got in the big nondescript SUV, unsure of his intentions. We started the ride in silence, neither of us wanting to talk, but having something to say. Like in the movies, we opened our mouths at the same time to talk, but he beat me to it.

"How do you plan on doing this?" he asked, making a point not to look at me. His voice was hard, emotionless; the voice of a well seasoned agent.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't know, or that I hadn't thought about it at all, so to keep myself off his horrible side, I told him. "I was going to go up to him before his shift ended at work, give him something, and leave. I want to give him the choice to talk to me or not."

Casey didn't reply and simply continued driving.

When I knew we were getting close, I spoke up. "How has he been?" I all but whispered. I think we both caught the hidden meaning in my words, truly wondering how bad it was... after I left. Honestly, it wasn't a question I wanted an answer to. I knew that either way the answer would hard to hear, worse than any blow to the head with a but of a gun or fist to the abdomen.

Casey hesitated, something unusual for him. It was as if he was contemplating his answer for a reason I would never know. Finally, he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "You really screwed him up, Walker." I took in the information, unsure if Casey's voice could carry through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, or the loud breaths I was taking to try and control myself. "In the past few months he's just started recovering. He's a horrible liar, though."

I took a moment to figure out how to react. A part of me had actually thought that by now he would've been better, at least more than Casey made it seem. But at the same time, I should have known. With Jill, it took him years. And while I was never as close to him as Jill, I had been a big part of his life.

Casey pulled the car into the parking lot and abruptly parked, turning to look at me. "He gets off at five," he all but spat and left.

I looked at the clock; it was 1:02. I decided to go find him at 1:05, giving myself just enough time to calm down, but not enough time to bolt instead.

My mind was popping sporadically, thoughts flying through my mind and out at a crazy speed. I tried not to worry about his reaction or seeing him again for the first time in too long.

But that doesn't mean I succeeded.

I still wasn't sure if I should be excited or scared to see him, even as I walked in. Outside the doors, right before they slid open, I smoothed over my shirt and pants. I took a quick survey of the store, spotting everyone occupied, making it less likely for someone to stop me. I don't know, and probably never will know, if Casey was standing directly in front of a sitting Chuck on purpose for me or him but he was blocking someones view regardless.

Somehow, the cards were in my favor, and not even Morgan, who notices everything, noticed my presence.

I walked directly up to Casey and cleared my throat. He wasn't talking, nor was Chuck.

"Open mind, Chuck," Casey said as he walked away from the desk, reveling Chuck to me like a theatre's curtains.

Chuck had a confused look on his face to begin with, but when he comprehended who it was, it was a different, even more confused expression.

The words on the tip of my tongue were impulsive and wouldn't be helpful. Chuck doesn't need to hear about how badly he must be at poker if that was his poker face.

Luckily I was able to hold back and say something simpler. One word at a time, Sarah... "Hi." I looked him in the eye and rocked back and forth on the heels of my feet.

He took his time, but he answered. He looked at me with that same pained look in his eyes as he said "Hi," back.

We somehow managed to keep eye contact which was uncomfortable at the very least. I finally broke it, playing with the small stack of newly enveloped letters in my hand. I ran my hands over the corners and rubber band methodically.

I slipped a piece of paper with my number under the rubber band. Reluctantly I looked back up at him. "I wanted to give these to you." I handed them to him and he reluctantly accepted them, looking as if I have given a life-sentenced prisoner his freedom or something; incredulously. "You can read them, you can burn them, or you can just stare at them, it's up to you. But if you want to talk to me, I'll be in town for the next few days."

He barely nodded his head in response.

I didn't want to say goodbye, but I needed some sort of parting words nonetheless. "I hope to hear from you, Chuck."

I watched as he stiffened at the sound of his name. It pained me to realize that I had lost such a privilege.

Before I could let anything else happen, I walked away.


	6. Chapter 5: PS I'm Still Not Over You

_I take my "Author right" and dedicate this chapter to **Kayla **(Kayla101blue). Why? Like I said; I'm the author, so I can. BUT, there happens to be a little mini-shout out to **fAteD lOvE**, even if I don't think she's reading it... Oh, and... **Sm93Starbuck** and **Yokaputo** and **Verkisto** get random, special, "HELLO!"s right here... HELLO! Why? Also, just because. These people happen to be awesome. Just randomly, and all for their different reasons! But still! _

_I don't care if none of these people actually read the story! They're still chill! And thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You all get little stickers and dolls of your favorite character. Nah, something much much better than that!_

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**Postscript Messages**  
_Chapter 5: PS I'm Still Not Over You_

Three days. I didn't hear anything from him for three full painful days. In turn, I spent my time anxiously pacing everywhere. My hotel room, the beach, parks, gas stations, everywhere.

I honestly didn't know if the silence was a good thing or bad. I had no clue if he'd read the letters or burn them like I gave him the option to. I was lost in the dark and hated it.

My emotions getting the best of me. I picked up the phone and begun dialing Casey's number many times through the three days, but never went through with it; if he was going to talk to me, it'd be on his own terms despite my nerves.

Beckman had literally ordered me to stay there until things were dealt with. But what did dealt with mean, exactly?

I gave him the letters. That could count, right? It's not what I personally needed, but if that was what Chuck needed, what he decided, then that's it.

With the unofficial resolution, I packed my bag. I wasn't going to leave immediately, but I would leave early the next morning. I couldn't wait around forever. It was driving me insane.

My luck running up, I had just pulled my duffel bag onto my bed when I heard the unexpected, yet desired, knock. Only, it was strong and firm, alarming because of it's surprise and not soft and light as Chuck's usually is. Or was.

I took my time going to the door. I didn't pull out my gun like an agent would; I wasn't concerned.

Casey was at the door. His hand was along the wall of the other side of the door frame, making it so I couldn't see what he was holding.

"Walker," he gritted through his teeth. He was struggling, something unusual for Casey.

Finally, he tugged harder and the man I had been waiting for, muttering a long line excuses and protests appeared. "I was _going_ to call her..." he trailed off. Our eyes met and mine soon flew to Casey's, Chuck's to the ground.

Casey and I communicated through our silence. _Fix this_, his eyes read. I nodded lightly in response.

Abruptly, Chuck got shoved into my room. I didn't want Chuck to have to be forced into talking to me when he didn't want to.

"I'm guarding the doors." Casey pointed at Chuck. "If you try to leave, I'm throwing you right back in." He gave us a sarcastic grin, clearly enjoying our quailing fear. "Play nice!" he said and he was gone.

I don't think either of us knew what to do next. I knew what I _wanted_ to do, things that I had been longing to do for far too long, but this was anything but the appropriate time.

Channeling a small portion of the agent in me, I put on a strong face and took deep, controlled breaths.

"Would you like to sit down?" I actually started to walk over to the two chairs on the other side of the room, but he didn't.

When he answered, I was taken aback. "No," he answered. It wasn't polite, it wasn't yelling, but it was firm.

I whipped back around and looked at him straight in the eye. I could see he was rushing to cover up his own surprise.

Slowly, I replied. "Oh, okay."

He continued to struggle with holding in his emotions. I didn't want to think of my own face. "Sarah!" His voice rose as he continued. "How--why!? I can't even--ugh!" He controlled his anger and exasperation. I didn't know why until his hands reached out to me. "Sarah..." He said my name in a more calm, desperate way. He rubbed his thumbs below my eyes and I felt the warm tears that were welling in my eyes. His fingers rolled across my face, wet with my tears that he prevented.

Chuck, my Chuck, came back. "Sarah, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just... I--" he cut himself off. I could tell that he was about to get angry at me again.

Without thinking, much like the times I was writing the letters, I grabbed his wrist and made him look at me, my red-rimmed eyes pleading. "Please, Chuck. You're honest reaction, no holding back."

As if sniffing would vacuum up all my tears, I took one long breath through my nose and braced myself for the wrath.

He opened his mouth wide and I knew in that moment he was going to yell. I even involuntarily flinched, eyes closed. Knives, barrels of guns, a group of armed men... those things I could take. But having the man I care most about yell at me is something that I don't think I will ever be able to train myself to take.

But he didn't yell. Instead his unrestrained response was given through a weary "Why?"

Even after all this time, my answer was iffy. I didn't know in that moment why I had truly left more than in the moment I was leaving.

But before I could answer, he asked more. "Why didn't you say goodbye, Sarah? Given me a heads up, or at least a chance..."

I shook my head. I figured it would make him at least mad, but it was like he could read my mind. "I've gotten over the mad stage, Sarah. Casey practically shoved me into it and pulled me right back out." He waved the letters. "These answered questions, but gave me new ones. And you never really told me why you left, despite the reasons you gave me."

I searched my brain. Why _did_ I leave, if I was going to be totally truthful with myself. This is something that, while I've sat and thought about it, and come up with excuses, I've never completely approved an answer for it. The rational side of my brain screamed that I left out of subconscious fear of the intimacy that was building between us. But I still couldn't get myself to verbalize this. I disregarded this thought, expelling it as the wrong answer.

Apparently, Chuck didn't want to wait, the slightest bit of frustration shinning through. He zipped up his jacket and started to the door. He turned around right before he placed his hand on the door knob. "Call me when you get an answer."

He opened the door just the slightest bit and I could see Casey leaning on the wall across the hall. He looked as bored as any soldier would look in this given situation--in his eyes was a slight hint of something resembling worry, though. When he saw the door open, his body stiffened, his eyes scanning for something, anything. His eyes connected with my burning ones and gave me the will to speak up against what I really wanted to happen.

"I was..." Chuck looked over his shoulder. "I was afraid." It came out as weak as a whisper, frail and fragile. If I couldn't even admit it to myself, how did I admit it out loud to Chuck? A question I will never know the answer to.

Chuck quietly closed the door. I could tell Casey didn't want to hear me, and for that I was thankful.

He had barely turned back around towards me before I spoke again. "We were getting too close." I let my mouth run, just like the letters every time without fail, taking on a life of their own. My voice dropped, my body physically protesting what I should say. "I--I'm not used to being so close to someone, Chuck. I acted irrationally and have regretted it every day since."

I promised myself that I wasn't going to cry again. I hadn't meant to the first time around, and sure as hell wasn't going to allow there to be a second time.

Chuck looked like a sad child, his eyebrows knitted together. "Will you stay?" His voice was firm, but quiet.

I slightly shook my head. I looked down. "I don't know Chuck."

He took a long stride towards me and put both hands on my shoulders. He made me look up at him. "Will you stay, Sarah." This time his preposition was fully strong, no hint of question in his voice. He was an adamant boulder that wouldn't go anywhere, not through the hurricane or the tidal waves. His voice made it seem as if no bulldozer could move this rock, seeming rooted into the ground.

I broke the eye contact once more. I wanted to stay, despite how I had completely given up the right. Leaving him, hurting him... I did too much to him to be allowed to just come back. And what would happen when things go awry again? I would have to go through my day dealing with more pain than the previous. And when Chuck gets the Intersect out of his head? I 'd have to leave all over again. Would it really be worth it to come back, just to have to leave at any given time?

And his family! I couldn't expect them to welcome me back into their lives! For all I know, Ellie hates me as much as she hates Jill.

"I couldn't--"

Chuck interrupted me. "You can. Whatever you were going with that, you can." He paused and placed his soft fingers below my chin once more. "Please, Sarah. Please come back."

And that was all it took.


	7. Epilogue: A Different Postscript Message

_**Author's Note:** I just want to thank everyone for reading this and sticking with it, even through the longer times of no posting! I hope the ending, as short as it is (goodness), satisfies you! Kayla (Kayla101blue) really helped me out with it, and made me take out quite a bit! But yes. Let me tell you; it _was_ going to be sad, but some of you wished for otherwise, so... here ya go! Thank you, again, for reading and reviewing and what not!_

_**Disclaimer:** I sadly still own nothing, otherwise Chuck would be on all throughout the year!

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**Postscript Messages**  
_Epilogue: A Different Postscript Message_

I wish I could say I gave him a real answer, but I didn't. Instead, I simply nodded my head after a long time of silence.

I've never been sure how I made that decision. Sure, I wanted to say with him with every little thing inside of my body, but a part of me feared that the agent inside of me would finally take over.

I remember weighing my options twice, once standing there and once crumbled on the couch. Only Chuck was patient this time.

Sitting on the couch, I felt out of my body. It didn't feel as if I was there. I could feel the fear rising up in me again, and that scared me. I could hear Chuck call my name, but it was like I was under water and it was breaking down my senses. It took all my strength to nod my head.

"You'll stay?" he questioned in disbelief.

I took a look at my heart, inspecting it. Suddenly, it felt whole, as it did before I left. It didn't take me long that Chuck was opening the door, the key somehow back in his possession, and coming back in. It felt warm, beating with more strength and completeness rather than the emptiness and weakness I endured while I was gone.

Once again, Chuck had managed to bring me back, this time not to life, but to him.

My voice failed me as I nodded my head once more.

That nod kept me where I belonged. Since that monumental day I've stayed with him, working through things slowly. We had risen back to where we left off rather quickly, thankfully, and went from there. I learned my lesson the first time around and knew somewhere in me that I wouldn't have the strength to leave him again. Not now. Not ever.

Regardless of his mixed emotions about the letters, I wrote him another one. Well, it was really just a text message to see what time we were due at Ellie's, but the end contained a different postscript message from that of my last.

_P.S. I love you__..._


End file.
